(I work downtown near one of the private religious universities. At least twice a week I am approached by members of one of their Christian outreach groups. I usually just smile and decline politely and go on my way, but this time they follow me to my bus stop.)

Girl: “Excuse me! Did you know that you have a holy mother and a holy father?”

Me: “No… A group of you tried to talk to me about this yesterday. I’m really not interested, thanks. My bus is going to be here soon.”

Girl: “Well, we’ll just talk while you wait! Are you a follower of Jesus Christ?”

Me: “No.”

Girl: “Oh. Well, do you believe in God?”

Me: “No.”

Girl:*disappointed* “Oh. Can I ask why not?”

Me: “You can ask, but it’s hard to explain. It wasn’t one thing. I was raised Christian, but over time I just realized I didn’t believe any of it. And that it’s far more likely that all religions are wrong than that there is one that happens to be right.”

Girl: “Well, have you read the Bible?”

Me: “Yes. Honestly, it’s part of the reason I’m an atheist.”

Girl: “Sometimes people read things but they really don’t UNDERSTAND them, you know? We have a great group and we’d love for you to come and learn more and help you understand the message of the Bible.”

Me: “Again, I’m really not interested. Thanks.”

Girl: “What if we gave you proof?”

Me: “Proof of what?”

Girl: “That the Bible is real.”

Me: “If you honestly think you can do that, then our definitions of ‘proof’ are very different.”

Girl: “Well, you believe in history, right?”

Me: “History is just past events. You don’t ‘believe’ or ‘not believe’ in—”

Girl: “Well, there’s historical things in the Bible! There’s real historical people and places in it! That’s proof right there for you!”

Me: “Yes, but there are also ‘historical things’ in Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter, and that doesn’t make it true.”

(The girl’s mouth drops as she tries to formulate a response. Fortunately, I was saved by the bus!)

(I kept my hair pretty short in college. Despite that, I seemed to go through my supply of shampoo and conditioner after two weeks.)

Me: “I don’t know how I’m using so much. I have really short hair, and it’s just vanishing. You’re not using any of it are you?”

Roommate: “Nuh-uh. I use that anti-frizz stuff that has to sit in my hair for five minutes before I rinse. Maybe the bottles are leaking.”

(I decide to dye my hair blue next time I go to the store, and dump an extra bottle of fast-acting dye into my shampoo to help keep the color from fading so fast. The next day my roommate is taking one of her famously long showers…)

Roommate:*blood-curdling shriek*

Me: “What’s wrong?! Are you okay?!”

Roommate: “My HAIR!”

(She storms out of our bathroom to reveal her waist length, platinum blonde hair dyed with varying shades of teal.)

Me: “Oh, my god. You’ve been using my shampoo!”

Roommate: “Why is there blue dye in your shampoo?!”

Me: “Serves you right for using my stuff without asking, AND lying to me about it. You brought this on yourself.”

Roommate: “My parents are going to kill me!”

(Her parents weren’t very amused when they saw her, but at least she never used my shampoo again!)

(My kitten was deathly ill in the emergency animal hospital for three days, but finally pulled through. It is expensive and tiring, but I am so happy to have him that I don’t care. When I arrive home with him, a friend of the family is in my kitchen.)